


48 Hours

by Brothaigh



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: AU, F/F, au time travel, wh13 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brothaigh/pseuds/Brothaigh
Summary: It was supposed to be 48 hours: Myka wasn't supposed to be there and she'd been promised a transfer home to be with her parents in Denver. A transfer back to where she belonged. But there she was, stuck with no way home - no reasonable way, at least.
Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Myka Bering, science teacher and connoisseur of literary classics, wasn't one to get into trouble. Perhaps that was what unnerved her about sitting in front of a headmaster's office. It was part of a school transfer program, various nations exchanging teachers as they might have exchanged students - it was a way for those teachers to learn more varied and more effective ways of teaching. Myka had signed up for the program in hopes of being transferred back to Denver with her parents, she'd been in Washington D.C. for nearly six years teaching and another six for her schooling. She was 32 and hadn't expected to be away from home for so long, but that was just it, she rarely expected things to last as long as they had been lasting. And so, the science teacher, in all her normalcy, found herself frustrated when she had been transferred to a small school just outside of Birmingham, England. It wasn't that she needed to see the headmaster - _technically, yes, she did need to see him for introductions to the school_ \- but it was that she needed to express how she wouldn't be staying if she could help it.

 _Two days, at most._ That was what Myka kept telling herself - _just two_.

"Miss Bering?"

Myka's attention was dragged from her thoughts at the headmaster's voice and immediately rose to meet him. Her hand met his in a firm handshake and he gave a nod before opening his office door.

"I believe we were doing a walkthrough tomorrow, that's what I'd put in my calendar. Is there something troubling you?" The headmaster crossed his office and settled behind his desk into his chair as he gestured at the chair on the other side.

Myka followed him into the room and settled into the chair, leaning forward with folded hands and elbows on the desk.

"I'm not supposed to be here. There was a mix up with the program, I've contacted them and my replacement should be here by tomorrow night. I'll be leaving for home the day after, just to be sure."

The headmaster's brows raised, but he nodded. If Myka had already set things into motion regarding a transfer home, he couldn't change that.

"That's fine, Miss Bering, but I will need you to revise your contract. It _has_ already been signed, so we'll need to amend it to reflect this change."

It was Myka's turn to nod and the headmaster rose in search of her paperwork. The only pen on the desk in the pen cup was an old, certainly worn, fountain pen. Myka reached for it as she awaited her paperwork. She couldn't help holding the pen close, looking over the finer points of wear - where a finger and thumb would rest. The nib had been worn down and Myka wondered if it would write any longer, so pressed it to the tip of one finger and was satisfied when a bead of ink was left. She smeared the bead down her finger just as the paperwork was placed in front of her.

"You need to cross out every instance of your signature and write your initials beside it, then we'll fill out this new contract for two days rather than 90," the headmaster explained, holding up a blank copy of the pages in front of Myka.

And so, Myka did as instructed. Every instance of her signature was crossed out, initials signed, and the new paperwork was filled in a matter of minutes. It was a painless process and Myka replaced the pen into the pen cup on the headmaster's desk as she stood to leave.

"I do hope, Myka, that you might reconsider before the time on your new contract is up. We have such a need for well-rounded teachers here. It's been ages since we've had a teacher truly interested and educated in multiple subjects - well enough to teach them, anyway."

Myka could feel the headmaster's gaze on her back as she left. _She wouldn't reconsider, she wanted to go back to her family_. Myka, with all her tenacity, couldn't get the fountain pen off her mind as she made her way to the flat she had been meant to occupy for the semester. It was old and worn, but the headmaster wasn't the type to use a fountain pen - he looked like a businessman, sharp and clean and _new_.

 _A ballpoint pen kind of man_ , Myka thought, _the kind of man who tosses pens when the ink sticks too much and_ _doesn't roll_. It didn't make sense to Myka, _he didn't even seem the type to have sentimentality for objects_. Myka hadn't even seen family or vacation photos on his desk, his office was clean and virtually untouched. She didn't trust it, which gave her all the more reason to leave.

The flat, like the school, was old - the style gave it away. Myka gave the building a once-over before she approached it with intent, hoping that this would be one of the final times she made the approach. She fumbled a key from her pocket and pressed it into the keyhole. It clicked easily and the knob, brass and warm, turned just as easily. Myka stepped inside and locked the door behind her - somehow, it felt more like home than it should have. It was a wine kind of night, Myka thought, and she poured herself a glass when she finally reached the kitchen. One sip, then two, and Myka led herself to the sofa and settled into it.

* * *

Myka wasn't a lightweight, per-se, but after a bottle of wine and a glass of whiskey to top it off, her eyes were heavy and she was laying across the sofa, nodding off to a half-muted TV. That was the point, _she wasn't a lightweight_. She also wasn't a sleepy drunk, so when consciousness finally left, it was as far from ordinary as a crisp new headmaster in possession of a fountain pen older than both them combined. Myka didn't feel lost, didn't feel not herself, but she drifted into a dream-filled sleep that she'd never experienced before.

Cold and all-too quiet within her own mind, Myka might have called it a nightmare if not for the warmth in her veins from the alcohol. As it was, her dream was nearly nothing: she could see herself lying there, still and with a small smile in a black space. In consciousness, Myka might have called it the void, but here it felt like everything.


	2. Chapter 2

The period of wakefulness immediately after a dream is always groggy - it's almost an alien feeling. Myka wasn't exactly unaccustomed to the unfamiliarity of waking after a long night, especially with the throbbing in her head playing as her alarm. She glanced around and pressed her fingers to her temple when the brightness made the throbbing ache even more. Myka's tongue felt heavy as she took inventory - she was alone, on her couch, all dressed, and hungover. She spared a longer glance around the room and this was when panic set in. There was nothing like adrenaline to draw Myka Bering out of a hangover headache and the immediate panic of being seemingly robbed was certainly an adrenaline jump.

Myka swung her legs as she sat up - her feet landed on the ground, but the sofa was all too short. The TV was missing, despite its blubbering having put her to sleep. The curtains, too, were not where Myka had left them: they were wide open, natural light being the only thing illuminating the room. She stood and her feet brushed the bottle of wine she'd downed the night before - it solidified the reality of her situation. Myka looked down at the bottle and it rolled, label up, and she realized the label was entirely wrong - that wasn't _her_ bottle. She ran her thumb over the name and shook her head, confusion etched across her features. She hadn't been that drunk, _had she_?

It was the rattling of the front door handle that startled Myka out of her head, bottle falling from her hand and shattering at her feet. The door opened - its familiar creak didn't ring on Myka's ears - and a young girl entered, excitedly chattering about her day to an adult Myka had yet to see. A few very short moments later, the girl turned to Myka and hardly a second passed before a blood-curdling, high-pitched scream escaped her _very small_ body. Myka froze, not that she had been moving before, and her entire body tensed with anticipation of what might follow. When the door slammed open and a woman entered, immediately standing in front of the girl, and held a closed umbrella pointed threateningly at Myka.

"Who are you?"

The accent was just as Myka had expected, English, almost posh. Myka swallowed and raised her hands slowly, she wanted this woman to know that she was no threat. _Had she simply stumbled into the wrong home the night before?_ Myka almost would have believed it, except for the fact that she had been as sober as a judge on her walk home, it was only when she arrived that she'd started drinking. She had to be in the right home, _right?_ Everything was right about it, except for the curtains and the TV and the lights - _the lights?_ Myka glanced up. Where a chandelier had been hung, there was nothing, but the walls were adorned with gas lights and the fireplace still looked operational. It was a very brief glance around the room, but the umbrella-wielding woman became impatient in the time and ushered the child, Myka could only assume it was her daughter, outside.

"I asked who you are," the woman insisted, brandishing the umbrella like a fencing foil and slowly approaching Myka.

Myka's breath was caught in her throat - she'd never thought she'd be threatened by an umbrella.

"M-Myka," she finally stuttered out, nerves getting the better of her.

Myka could scold herself later, in fact she was already mentally berating her nerves. Myka was strong, she was independent, she could manage a class of insulting 8th graders as though they were complimenting rather than degrading her teaching styles and abilities, not to mention her personal life. But in front of a woman and her daughter, Myka couldn't manage her name.

"Myka? Myka _what_?"

Myka was once again pulled from her thoughts by the woman in front of her.

"Myka Bering. Myka Bering from Washington, D.C.; I'm the new physics teacher at the school two blocks over. I'll be tutoring literature as well."

Myka didn't know why she felt the need to explain her presence in England, but her assigned contract rolled off her tongue with the same confidence she'd had denouncing it only the night before. It did seem to be the appropriate choice of words, the woman lowered her umbrella and nodded slowly as she reached into a coat pocket and pulled a pocket calendar out. The woman flicked it open and dragged her finger over the page until she found what she seemed to be looking for and her brows raised in what must have been approval.

"Ah, yes. I wasn't expecting you to be _in_ my home when I arrived, I have to say, I was quite disappointed when you weren't at the station. Headmaster Neilsen had said you'd be here today, I thought you'd backed out of the contract and we are in desperate need of a physics teacher."

Myka lowered her hands as the woman in front of her made eye contact and gave a curious glance to her still-raised hands. Myka didn't know who this woman was, but Neilsen was the one who had helped her to void her contract the day before. _He_ could help her make sense of this. Myka must have still looked concerned or confused because the woman opened her mouth in a silent 'ah', but turned away before speaking.

"Christina! Darling, it's alright! Just our new house guest, she must have caught a coach out from the train station. Come on inside."

With that, the woman turned to Myka and gave a curt nod.

"Helena Wells, chemistry and zoology. I think you'll find we'll be working together far more than you'd work with other teachers in Washington, D.C.. My daughter Christina lives here with me and my brother, Charles. He and his companion Peter are here as well. Make no mistake, Miss Bering, this is still _my_ house and you will defer matters regarding your lease to me and not to Charles. He has no mind for business."

Helena started up the staircase and, a number of steps in, glanced at Myka to gesture that she follow.

"Come, then. I'll show you to your room. Where's your trunk- Oh, never mind, you'll fit Charles's old clothes. You would have had it with you if you'd brought one. Unprepared much?"

Helena was well ahead of Myka, but the American did her best to catch up. She almost spoke at the comment about a trunk, but decided against it. Helena led her up the stairs and down a hall, past one bedroom opposite a bathroom, and into a bedroom - this one opposite another bedroom. One final door stood at the end of the hall and Myka decided it must lead to Helena's room.

"This will be your room, the spare. Christina is in the room across, and Charles and Peter share the one just down the hall-" Helena gestured back toward the stairs "-and mine is at the end. If you have any troubles, need linens, matches, what have you, just knock. If I'm not there, I'm down in my study."

Myka's suspicions were confirmed and she nodded to Helena's instructions.

"Will do. Before you go, Mrs. Wells-"

"Miss. I am far from married, Miss Bering."

"Oh, yes, well I had rented the house on my own. Up until today, I was living here _alone_."

Helena didn't seem surprised, but also didn't defer to Myka's concern. Myka had assumed Helena would let up, that Helena would say this was all some prank that Neilsen had put her up to to try and get her to stay. She didn't. Myka knew now that the house was the very same that she had fallen asleep in - the layout was perfectly identical, the wallpaper - albeit less yellowed, the placement of the lamps on the wall were exactly where wall patches had been in the house Myka had known. If she didn't know better - and she _did_ know better, she was a physics teacher after all - she would have said she'd fallen back in time.

"Ah. Peter said the same thing. Last year, Neilsen brought him in. Another American teacher, something about diversifying our education, but he, like you, let himself in after I failed to retrieve him from the station. Steve and Claudia, siblings, mind you, appeared the same way a few years before. And before that, Arthur Nielsen was the one insisting he owned my family's home - back when Mrs. Frederick was managing the school. I must have still been in my upper levels back then, he was put in as headmaster as I was finishing but he had been in town for a few years."

Myka hardly followed Helena's train of thought. More people, like her, had done this? It was almost too much and Myka gritted her teeth as she tried to remember - _Peter_. That couldn't be, _could it?_ The man who'd been sent the year before, a D.C.-London exchange, had been one Peter Lattimer.

"Lattimer?"

Helena nodded an nearly rolled her eyes, Myka could see her restraining herself.

"Yes, Lattimer. The one from the school you came from - honestly, are all Americans as dull as you two?"

Myka couldn't help the offense she took at the comment and her nose wrinkled with frustration.

"Are all Brits as much of asses as you?"

Helena huffed and tapped the door.

"Your room. I'll have clothes for you in the morning."

With that, Myka was left at the door. She pushed it open, still bristling from her encounter with Helena, and her eyes brushed over every inch of the room. It was furnished, unlike the spare bedroom she had seen before, but every bit the one in the house she'd been staying in. A defeated sigh fell from her lips and she stepped out, door clicking behind her as she let herself downstairs.


End file.
